


Quicksand Week Day 5: Hurt & Comfort

by hitagashi



Series: ROTG Prompted or Weekly [4]
Category: Guardians of Childhood - William Joyce, Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Quicksand Week
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:53:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hitagashi/pseuds/hitagashi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Maybe, one day, they might mend the fences.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quicksand Week Day 5: Hurt & Comfort

All he could do was to stare at the sky. He could smell it in the air, the smell of a storm on the horizon. Dawn was steadily rising as well, made the Nightmare King twitch at the remembrance of needing to move but....

There really was no point.

Breathing deeply, he considered his options. Receive burns for merely touching something like a ray of light or.. send himself right on back to the hell that was his home. The Sovereign of Fear, terrified of his own creations. How wonderful.

Pale gold eyes took in the fading night, watched purple streak and pinks and oranges arrive. He saw retreating dream sand, smile stretching. To think, his creatures were formed of it. Really, he should have stuck to his Fearlings.

A strand of light hissed against his foot, a ghostly thing rising from place and skin sizzling in the heat. It was with great effort and no small amount of help from his Fearlings that he managed to rise. He ducked into the tree line, staggering to avoid each of the new obstacles. Really, what was there to do?

He was a general, before, he did not give up.

Even if surrender sounded wonderful. His steps skipped, made him trip over himself and into the light. Ignoring the burn and the erasure of his sleeve when it had been lit up, he continued on. Never mind that his feet were sore. Never mind that he stumbled into brightness far too often and burned away a bit more shade or that his transparency was spreading to spirits as well.

He would not. Give. Up.

The man caught himself though he ignored the golden light beside him. Of course his greatest enemy would pity him. A final stumble, the thin figure tumbling down a hillside. The golden being raced after him, eyes wide with worry. A grin spread the shade's lips, Fearling smoke rising as it used to. In the old days before Nightlight and his damned spear.

“I'll be fine, little star,” is all he said, feeling brief relief from the shadow he fell into. And then greater. Sandy's quick thinking would likely have made him angry any other time. Pale gold eyes caught the floating, glowing round man beside him beneath the canopy he'd formed of leaves and branches.

His grin turned to a small smile, head tilting into the hands touching his face. Light he could handle, that's what Sandy was.

“Thank you, old friend,” whispered to the silent figure. Of course once, before the Guardians, before many spirits, they'd been enamored with each other but really....

A sudden weight across his collar gave him a breathless chuckle.

“Perhaps, one day, when I can forgive myself what you have already forgiven.” Pitch breathed, deeply, turning his hand to kiss a small palm. “Perhaps then, we might have healed, hm? Enough so, at least, to resume this. Or at least our friendship.” He gave a wry chuckle, heavy breaths of a person set on refusing sleep.

“This, more than anything, is my greatest dream.”

' _One day, soon, we can try again._ '

As Pitch closed his eyes, he smiled softly and gave a whisper. “I can ask no more, Sanderson.”

**Author's Note:**

> I uh...
> 
> This makes no sense to me either, sorry.


End file.
